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LIGHT-WINGED Smoke! Icarian bird, | |
Melting thy pinions in thy upward flight; | |
Lark without song, and messenger of dawn | |
Circling above the hamlets as thy nest; | |
Or else, departing dream, and shadowy form | 5 |
Of midnight vision, gathering up thy skirts; | |
By night star-veiling, and by day | |
Darkening the light and blotting out the sun; | |
Go thou, my incense, upward from this hearth, | |
And ask the gods to pardon this clear flame. -H.D. Thoreau |
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